


smash cut

by vol_ctrl



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1970s, Age Difference, Best Friends, Bottom Vox, Canon-Divergent Valentino, Friends to Lovers, Gangsters, Human AU, M/M, Maximilien V. Oxley, New York City, Queer Themes, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Work Positive Valentino, Top Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Trans Character, Trans Valentino, Val is Sal, Valentino is not Sexually Abusive, just to be clear, sudden and abrupt change in tense lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vol_ctrl/pseuds/vol_ctrl
Summary: Salvatore has been Hollywood hot-shot Maximilien Oxley's fixer when he comes to the City for a while now. What they've got between them has evolved beyond just a professional relationship, one might even call them friends. But is there a spark of something else between them?(Human AU. Salvatore = Valentino, Maximilien Oxley = Vox. Vox didn't die in the 50s, but lived on to end up in Valentino's orbit when they were both alive in the 70s.)
Relationships: Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	smash cut

**Author's Note:**

> DAY TWO OF [STATICMOTH WEEK](https://twitter.com/NightExcision/status/1279113086637465600?s=20): HUMAN AU.
> 
> Ya know I got a _thing_ for these human AUs. I just wanted to have a lot of fun with this and write more of the queer smut I wanna see in the world.
> 
> Shout outs to [Orias](https://twitter.com/orias_art), [hunting_people](https://twitter.com/_sugarpimp_), and [General Jambalaya](https://twitter.com/NightExcision) for inspirations on trans Valentino. More shout outs to [Gen. Jamby](https://twitter.com/NightExcision) and [Kyng](https://twitter.com/kyng_sg) for inspiring discussions about human Valentino. And throw in some appreciation for [Hattie](https://twitter.com/tlhoh_artblog) for getting a couple lines stuck in my head that slipped their way into this piece! Grateful to all my friends who inspire me.
> 
> This fic is VERY headcanon heavy. I mean. It's human AU for two characters we know little about. Just have fun with it!
> 
> Check me out over on Twitter [@vol_ctrl](https://twitter.com/vol_ctrl) for more. ♥

“Take  _ that,  _ Hollywood!” 

“Oh, it’s gonna take more than that to impress me.”

Sal threw his head back with a laugh that cracked through the night air. “Don’t give me that shit! You ain’t never seen shit like that.”

“I been around the block a few times, kid,” Max shot back as his shoes scuffed along the grimy steps leading up from the basement club booming behind them.

Sal pulled his cigarette case from the interior pocket of his sharp suit and flicked it open as he hopped up the last few steps with a twist of flair. “Yeah, ya look like ya got one foot in the grave, grandpa. You sure you can keep up?”

Max’s eyes glittered under dark brows, that classic smile tugged wild across his handsome jaw. “I feel like a million bucks,” he told Sal with a toothy grin.

Sal lit his cigarette and pocketed the case. He brushed down the front of his shirt, then leaned toward Max and did the same. Almond-shaped eyes narrowed, scrutinized Max for a moment, dark, blown pupils flicking here and then. With a tug of a near-matching wild grin, Sal tweaked Max’s nose. “Ya look a few bucks short of a dimebag,” he jabbed in a low voice.

Max brushed Sal’s hand away and sniffed, brushing at his own nose self-consciously. “You’re just jealous,” he said with a lift of his chin. “You’d kill to look this good.”

Sal lidded his eyes at Max, then turned with a shrug of one of his broad shoulders. “And I would,” he said, cigarette clenched between his teeth. “I can only pray to God I age as well as you, Mr. X!”

Max fell in step with Sal and reached into his own coat. He rifled around. Checked all his pockets. “Dammit. I think those hookers stole my cigarettes…”

“Dancers,” Sal muttered through a cloud of smoke.

Max glanced at Sal.

“They were dancers,” Sal said, more emphatically, as if it should be obvious.

“Whatever.”

“It’s important to know yer dancers from yer hookers. As a business man, you oughta know that.”

“S’ppose you’re right. Rather have it leaked to the press that Hollywood producer Mr. Maximilien Oxley was spotted Saturday night in [Deep Ellum] in the company of  _ dancers  _ ‘stead of  _ hookers. _ ”

“Exactly,” Sal agreed with a wide grin. He was already pulling his cigarette case back out. 

By the time Max finished fidgeting with his pockets, he found a cigarette being offered to him between two long, thin fingers. “Thanks.” He dug back into his pants pocket--even though he’d just checked it--but found that his fixer handily had a lighter clicking before him. He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“I’m fuckin’ hungry,” Sal said suddenly.

Max snorted, grinning as he brought the cigarette to his lips again. “I dunno how you fuckin’ eat so much. Where do you  _ put  _ it?” he demanded, looking over at the beanpole of a man beside him. He was broad in the shoulders, but criminally narrow in the waist.

“In my mouth, just like the common people,” Sal told him, swinging a sweet grin his way.

Max nearly choked on smoke, coughing and laughing.

Sal chuckled huskily around his own sedate cloud of smoke. “Let’s get somethin’. I’m seriously starving.”

“Lead the way,” Max said with a sweeping gesture. “It’s your city.”

Sal grinned at that. Yeah. It was his city. His grimy, bloody, slutty, hooker with a heart of gold city. He was, for all intents and purposes, Max’s “guide” while he was in the city. Part of that was to make sure the high roller had a good time. Part of it was to keep him out of trouble. Save him from himself, sure, but also keep him out of the clutches of any of the rival factions who might want to try and grease him palms into doing his business through them. Keep the dirty Hollywood cat fat and happy on  _ their  _ turf and away from the other families.

He used to think Max was a stiff. Or stupid. Turned out he was neither of those things. With a little booze and some blow in him, he was downright good company. Strip down the pomp and circumstance after the business was dealt with, and he was a damn good time.

Max didn’t come to the city all that often. Couple times a year, when Cali was too hot--either the weather, or the fame. Sal saw what Max was like in Hollywood from newspapers, magazines, a television appearance here and there. He was a real hot shot, that was for sure. But here? These late nights slumming through  _ his  _ city? Hitting up clubs, getting high, cutting loose out of the public eye--Max was just another guy.

Sal could see that it was good for Max to have this time out of the limelight. He wasn’t like every air-headed Hollywood type. Sure, he acted like he was the center of the goddamn universe, God’s gift to humanity, but he wasn’t full of  _ just  _ hot air. In the dead of night, without a camera lens on him, riding that line between keyed up and chilled out, he actually let his hair down. So to speak. He struck a figure, but it didn’t look so Executive Prince Charming, and that smile didn’t look so glued on.

Max ran a hand through his thick hair. A few strands had come free from its combed, classic style. He palmed over it from his temples, trying to right what had been wronged by the girls at the last club. “What?” he muttered around his cigarette as he noticed Sal staring at him.

Sal was wondering when he’d gotten so goddamn comfortable in this man’s company. He had no right to be. They were from  _ completely  _ different worlds. Max was proper famous. Sal’s biggest claim to fame was that he was on a first name-- _ given  _ name--basis with every hooker, rentboy, and dancer in a ten mile radius. He was no small time criminal, but he had yet to really break into the  _ big time. _ Truth be told, this gig with showing Max around whenever he was in town was one of his highest accolades. Not that he would be willing to give him that much credit.

Sal grinned and shook his head. “Y’look scruffy.”

Max’s eyes widened and he tore his cigarette from his mouth. “How dare you.”

Sal just laughed. “Look. Here we go.” He gestured ahead with his cigarette and a tip of his chin toward the softly glowing beacon of a late night cafeteria. “Rudy’s got a good pastrami.”

“Looks like they got more than just pastrami on the menu,” Max muttered as he eyed up the sort of clientele loitering around the front. Bare legs like beacons all their own, tight skirts and crop tops, midriffs winking at passers-by.

“Cool it, Hollywood. They’re off the clock,” Sal told him.

“How can ya tell?” Max shot back with a smirk.

Before Sal could answer, he was hailed by one of the girls out front. “Hey, if it ain’t Sally-boy,” she called.

“Hey, baby,” Sal greeted her warmly and flicked his cigarette to the curb. “How you ladies doin’ tonight?”

“Cold,” said one dramatically.

“Lonely!” another chimed in.

“Just lookin’ for a good man,” crooned the first as she melted into Sal’s inviting arms.

They all bubbled into laughter, and Sal gave the whore a kiss on the cheek. “Stayin’ outta trouble, I hope,” he said in that low, smoky voice.

“Oh, we try, Sally.”

“But you know how much trouble just loooves us!” She clicked her tongue.

“You had any trouble tonight?” Sal asked, a thread of seriousness in that usually laid-back tone.

“No, sir.”

“That fuckin’ jag-off ain’t workin’ tonight.”

A murmur of complaint filtered through the gathered working girls. Sal lifted a brow, posture straightening in stages. “Which jag-off?” he asked, that smoky drawl taking on a touch of danger.

“Ever since them arrests at Rich’s, this fuckin’ guy’s been callin’ the cops on us,” one of the girls told Sal around a pout.

“Payin’ customers!” the girl in Sal’s arms said indignantly.

“That just ain’t right,” Sal said in that calm tone that promised he would Take Care of Things.

“That’s just bad business,” Max chimed in sympathetically. He’d been just watching Sal, fascinated by that magnetism, that charisma he had. Smooth as silk, but sharp as a blade, Sal treated damn near every street walker like a fucking princess. It was a sight to behold. “Why’d they call the cops on sweet girls like you?”

The gathered ladies giggled at Max’s ignorance. “Who’s your friend, Sally?” one asked.

Sal glanced over at Max. “Buddy from outta town.”

One of the girls sauntered closer in her high heels. “Sally makin’ sure you have a good time?” she asked, sidling up to brush a hand along his arm, giving it a squeeze.

“That, and more,” Max assured her politely, that award-winning smile slotting onto his face.

“He showin’ you the sights?” another purred with cupid’s bow smile.

“Well,  _ now  _ he is,” Max said.

“Oh, ain’t he a charmer!” she cried with a laugh. “Where’d you get this one, Sal? How come you don’t bring more a’ your  _ nice  _ friends like this around, huh?”

“Don’t let him fool ya. You know I don’t got any  _ nice  _ friends,” Sal shot back with a wide grin.

“Aww, that’s too bad. You’re nasty just like all the rest of ‘em, huh?” the girl at Max’s arm pouted.

“You know how men are,” Max commiserated.

This brought on a fresh peal of laughter from the group, including Salvatore.

“But never fear,” Max grinned and pat the hand that had tucked itself into his elbow. “We’re just dropping by for the pastrami.”

“Aww, you ain’t bothering me, sweetheart,” the girl crooned up at Max.

“Sal’s got  _ plans  _ for us tonight,” Max told her.

With a little pout, she unwound herself from his arm. “Well, when ya get bored a’ Sally-boy, you know where to find me, sugar.” She blew him a kiss and sauntered off, hips swaying to show off the assets Max was missing out on.

Sal glanced at Max, then back at the girl in his arms. “Gotta get some grub in me, honey,” he said, giving her a squeeze. She kissed his cheek and slipped from his arms.

“Bring us more nice boys like him,” she told him, pointing a manicured nail in his direction.

“I can only do so much, sweetheart,” Sal told her, holding out his arms in defeat. Once the ladies had gone back to their little circle, Sal peered over at Max again. He started toward the door of the little late night deli and Max followed along. “I got  _ plans  _ for us?” he asked, eyebrow angled in question.

Max shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I figured ya do.”

“You’re the boss here, Hollywood,” Sal told him with a playful smirk that narrowed his eyes.

“Pfft. Cut that shit out,” Max scoffed.

“Don’t hold back on  _ my  _ account,” Sal said, raising his brows at Max. “I mean, word to the wise, those ladies might be packin’ a little more than you can handle, but…” He chuckled, swiping a finger under his nose as he peered over at Max.

Max gave Sal a dubious look. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

That grin just spread wide across Sal’s generous mouth as he clicked his bootheels up to the counter. He put a pin in their conversation so he could turn to the tired sandwich jockey and order two pastramis on rye. Once he’d paid up, he tucked his billfold back into his pocket and led Max down to the far end of the counter. He sank himself into one of the dingy diner chairs under the fluorescent lights.

Max liked the way Sal  _ poured  _ himself onto every surface he came in contact with. He swore the man was more liquid than solid with how that lanky frame found ways to drape itself.

“Ya like kielbasa, Mr. X?” Sal asked in a tone that was an indelible mix of suggestive drawl and professional crispness.

Maxx snorted as he scraped into a chair across a tacky tabletop from Sal. “ _ Oh, _ ” he said with a nod of understanding. “Here I thought you were callin’ me old. Like my ticker’s gonna give out from goin’ a few rounds in the sheets.”

Sal laughed. “I’ve seen you do more coke than some of the strung out punks that come crawlin’ outta the gutter. I think your ticker’s just fine, old timer. Just didn’t think they were your type.”

“Oh yeah?” Max shot Sal a look. “What’s my type, Sally-boy?”

Sal’s eyes narrowed as Max used that nickname on him. It wasn’t something he let just  _ anyone  _ call him. “I dunno, Mr. X,” he said crisply. “You tell me.”

Max matched that dark smirk on Sal’s face.

Sal could see something in those deep blue eyes. Something that kinda took him by surprise. Max might’ve been high, but he wasn’t out of his mind. Sal wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation sitting under these lights, within earshot of somebody in his neighborhood.

“Your call,” he said, brushing off that intense eye contact with a wave of his hand, gaze flicking toward the sandwich jockey’s methodical motions beyond the counter.

“I know,” Max told him, relaxing back in his chair.

Sal glanced at Max.

“They’re good,” Sal pitched at Max. “Real professionals.”

“I’m sure,” Max agreed.

Sal couldn’t quite get a read on Max. “I’m supposed to be showin’ you a good time,” he said generously, making an offer with a wave of his hand and lift of his brow.

“You are,” Max told him.

Sal snorted and smirked down the long aisle of the deli. For once, he couldn’t say he was suffering with the company while he was working.

Pastramis in hand, Sal and Max hit the streets once more.

“You queer?”

Sal paused mid-bite and glanced at Max. “What’s it to ya?” he asked, wiping a bit of mustard from the corner of his mouth.

“Just making conversation,” Max said innocently, but Sal could see the devious glint in his eye.

Sal lifted a brow at him. “For the right price.”

Max gave him a look.

Sal laughed. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.” He took another large bite out of his sandwich, inching the paper down. “Do I look queer to you?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

Max’s brows knit together as he scoffed and swallowed. “Sal, I’m from Hollywood.”

Sal waited for him to go on with an almost bored look.

“For one, everyone’s a little bit queer in Hollywood. And for another--you wouldn’t fucking know by looking at someone.”

A smile crept onto Sal’s face. “Fair enough,” he muttered.

“So?” Max pressed him.

Sal narrowed a brow at Max, made more progress on his sandwich before he said, “Believe it or not, I don’t really give a shit what genitals are involved.”

Max laughed. “You don’t give a shit?” he asked. He’d never heard it put quite like that.

“Nah,” Sal said. “A hole’s a hole. The rest is optional.”

“Hm,” Max murmured to his sandwich.

“You got a problem with that, Mr. X?” Sal asked, a thread of tension in his reedy voice.

“Not at all,” Max assured him. “Just figured you’d have a preference.”

Smash cut to Max crushing Sal against the wall of a dimly lit hallway. Sal wrestles the broad, suited man over, taking the initiative with a devouring kiss of his own. Not to be outdone, Max grabs Sal by the lapels of his jacket and drives him across the hall with a breathless laugh of passion. 

Sal hits the wall with a thud and his teeth graze Max’s lip. “Hey,” he hisses. “There’s families in this neighborhood,” he scolds him.

Max snickers under his breath and grinds his hips against Sal’s, drawing a low groan from his throat. “Wouldn’t want the kiddies to get an eyeful,” he teases as he drags a hand down Sal’s printed shirt, gripping at his chest.

“Get off me and let me get the damn door,” Sal hisses back through an indulgent grin.

“Get off, you say,” Max shoots back and goes for Sal’s neck.

Sal shoves Max back by his shoulders, surprisingly strong for his lean frame. Max grins at him, but doesn’t push back, only combs his hair back from his brow, his usual well-kempt style mussed from the vigorous making out that had ensued on their way to Sal’s place.

With a watchful look and a smile peeling across his lips, Sal finally gets to his door and unlocks the thing. No sooner is he opening the door before Max is on him again, pressing him against another wall, grinding against his backside.

“Jesus, Max, you starving for some tail or what?” Sal asks, though Max steals his breath with a drag of teeth against his neck. “Kick that door shut,” he mutters in a tight breath.

Max manages to do so in the tight quarters of the entryway without having to leave the press of that body. However, he lets up just enough for Sal to twist himself around. The younger man grabs him by the lapels and grinds his narrow hips forward, dragging those handsome lips against his own.

“Mmm…. Max,” Sal purrs. “What’s gotten into you?” His grin cracks wide. “Aside from the coke and tequila shots,” he laughs.

“Here’s hopin’ the next thing is you,” Max replies with a devilish lift of his brow.

“Mmn, baby, you’re just full of fuckin’ surprises, ain’t you?” Sal breathes with a wild flare of his eyes. “Hot damn, Max, I didn’t even know you swung that way…” And now he was all up offering his asshole for the taking? Well, alright.

“Everybody’s a little queer in Hollywood,” Max reminds him, pushing that jacket off Sal’s shoulders so he can more fully enjoy that sleek frame underneath. “But me? I’m the best kept secret in Hollywood,” he tells Sal with a wink.

“I thought you were fuckin’ married or some shit,” Sal mutters, sinking back against the wall to just let Max go to town on his neck, keeping that fluid motion between their hips.

“Married to the studio. She don’t care too much about my dilly-dallying.”

Sal choked on a laugh. “ _ Don’t  _ call my expert fucking  _ dilly-dallying. _ Jesus, you are an old man.”

“Oh, shut up,” Max growled, tearing Sal’s shirt open.

“Hey, hey, watch the fuckin’ threads,” Sal growled right back.

“Well let me get in your fucking pants already,” Max said incredulously.

“Takes you fuckin’ months to get up the nerve to even  _ ask  _ if I’m queer, and now ya can’t get ya damn hands off me.” Sal shoves Max back, then closes the space again, on his terms, with a sultry step. “Patience, baby.” He takes Max’s chin in his hand, just admires that handsome face for a moment. Make any gay man cry to plow a handsome bastard like this.

“I gotta go powder my nose,” Sal says with a little look that says, ‘say something, I dare you,’ a little flick of those dark eyes.

Of course, Max says something. “You serious?” He smirks at Sal, then shoots him a dubious look.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious. Perfection takes time,” he snaps. “Now…” He leans toward Max, smoothing down his now thoroughly disheveled shirt and wrinkled coat. “You just make yaself comfy, baby, and wait like a good boy for Daddy.”

Max melts under the touch and those dulcet tones, his grin spreading wide. “You got a little powder for my nose, too, Daddy?” he asks.

Sal’s grin widens and he reaches into his pocket. He digs out the carefully folded dollar bill from a slit in the seam of his pocket and offers it to Max. “You can have some,” just as Max reaches to take it, Sal curls his fingers back and keeps it just out of reach, “But don’t give yaself a cardiac, old man. I’ll rev your engine just fine.”

Max smirks at Sal and takes the little dollar bill parcel from him anyway, walking further into the apartment. Sal turns on the lights as they go. Well, such that they were. Not a harsh lamp to be found in this apartment. Everything seems to have a soft glow to it, every surface covered with plush, comfortable fabric, a distinct zebra pattern echoed throughout. It isn’t any swanky apartment on the outside, but the interior is  _ lush  _ in a way that suits the Hollywood exec just fine.

Sal works on the buttons of his shirt as he walks toward a darkened hallway, brushing back his hair as he glances over his shoulder. “The kit’s under the couch, baby.”

By the time Max has topped off his energy levels, he can hear music bumping from deeper in the apartment. None too loud. It’s damn near five in the morning. But the dark curtains over the windows make it feel like some eternal late-night hour, his blown pupils soothed by the caress of soft lighting. Despite that fresh rush, he feels lulled by the atmosphere, and the promise of a very special treat.

Tonight wasn’t the first time he had thought about kissing Sal. He’d been thinking about it for a while now, but couldn’t quite get a read on him. There was definitely something special about him. Maybe it was that devil-may-care attitude. Even when Sal was supposed to be treating Mr. Hollywood, the big shot investor in the family’s underworld enterprises, like the most important man in the universe, he had this blase way about him. He wasn’t lacking in respect, but he was rich in an independent attitude that Max admired.

It almost made him untouchable. For once in his life, Max encountered a conquest he wasn’t sure he could win. And that was the biggest turn on of all.

Max snaps from his reverie as the music hits his ears more clearly, the door down the hall opening once more. His light-hungry eyes dart toward the hallway and that waning interest in his trousers gives a renewed twitch of anticipation.

“Hot  _ damn. _ ” Max is  _ not  _ disappointed. That lean, broad shouldered frame appears several inches taller, sauntering on air--no, on sharp heels that not only make him tower, but make his shapely legs even more so. As if that weren’t enough, those legs are dressed in wicked fishnets. Sal isn’t fucking around--he’s already got his hard cock on display, standing proud over a snatch of fabric that technically constituted as panties. The ring on his finger catches the light as he strokes himself on the walk over to where Max is seated on the couch.

“Worth the wait?” Sal asks him with a smooth lift of a dark brow.

“More than--” Max swallows as he sits forward on the couch. “Is that women’s underwear?” Max asks, practically salivating.

“No, it’s my underwear, you fucking pervert,” Sal snaps with a grin.

“Stupid question,” Max allows with a matching grin. “You put all this on just for me, baby?” he asks, drinking it all in with a slow, appreciative glance.

Sal chuckles, stroking that thick, dark hair from Max’s brow, fingers curling at the back of his crown. “Nah, I was already wearin’ these.”

“You always wear this kinda thing under those slick suits of yours?” Max asks as he runs his fingers from the high cuff of Sal’s boots, over all that tempting net.

“Makes me feel pretty,” Sal said with a cheeky grin.

“So you were just makin’ me wait for the hell of it.”

“I had to strap on my weapon of ass destruction,” Sal tells him, stroking that firm cock just inches before Max’s face.

Max snickers. “What d’you mean…” As Max takes another glance at that delicious cock, he notices that it’s stiffer than just flesh, more perfect than nature intended.

“Custom made,” Sal informs him with a devilish grin.

This is definitely a first for Max, but he sure as hell didn’t have a problem with that. He thrives on new experiences--he’s no stranger to the moniker ‘adrenaline junkie’--and he didn’t see what difference it made  _ what  _ that cock was made of, so much as who it was attached to. And he wanted Sal, there was no question about that.

“Problem?” Sal asks, and for a moment he gives Max a few inches more of space and strokes his hair.

“No… No, not at all,” Max says, hands creeping up Sal’s thighs to thumb over the hollow of his pelvis, trace over those sharp hip bones.

Sal’s grin slides across his generous mouth. “Good,” he purrs. “Well? This dick’s not gonna suck itself.”

Max is eager to oblige, as evidenced by the way he pulls Sal’s hips toward himself and slides himself further forward, knees parted to allow those killer legs between them. He parts his lips and laves over the head of the offered cock with his tongue, shooting a glance up at Sal.

Sal shivers as those electric blue eyes, turned midnight blue by the tinge of the lights in his apartment, flick up at him. He grins and tightens his grip on Max’s hair, guiding his cock back and forth over that tongue. 

Max lets Sal guide his head forward, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock with an eager hum. His nerves feel electric as that firm pseudo-flesh presses into his mouth, narrow hips slowly pushing forward with a low groan of satisfaction. His lips brush against Val’s ringed fingers before his cock slides back out, only to rock back in more swiftly. Max sucks wetly, looking up at Sal to watch at his expression goes dark with pleasure.

“Lemme see how hard you are for me, baby,” Sal encourages him. He lets go of his cock to runs his fingers along Max’s square jaw, combs his fingers through his hair to hold him right there while he grinds his cock into that clever mouth.

Max doesn’t need to be told twice. He undoes his fly in record time, loosing his cock with a grateful moan, stroking himself in time with that cock thrusting in and out of his mouth.

“Mm… you really want me bad, huh?” Sal murmurs in a low, smoky tone. He revels in the groan of affirmation from the rumpled executive on his couch. “Must’a been wantin’ me real bad for a  _ while… _ ” 

Max is enthralled with Sal’s commanding presence, and it shows in the eager way he jerks himself and gladly tests the limits of his gag reflex on his cock.

Sal grips Max’s hair tighter, skims his long fingers down the other side of his straining jaw, down his throat. Then he hikes one of his boots up onto the edge of the couch, dangerously close to the precious cargo between Max’s spread thighs. Close enough to make Max jump, to kick up the artificial adrenaline already pumping in his veins, but it drives him fucking wild.

“When you’d go back to the hotel, would ya just lie awake, dick in your hand, thinkin’ about me?” Sal asks, pressing that pointed boot toe toward Max’s groin.

Max tries to pull back to answer, but Sal keeps his head right where it is. He groans and rocks his hips forward, the unforgiving pressure of that boot against his balls making him almost choke.

“Oh, baby… you poor fuckin’ thing…” Sal groans, rubbing at Max’s throat as he rides his mouth, delighting in seeing that handsome face coming undone on his cock. “Bitin’ your fuckin’ pillow, thinkin’ of  _ me… _ ”

The power trip goes both ways, it seems. Sal grinds his boot against Max’s eager hips. He didn’t expect Max to flip the script like this. Made sense, though. All the most powerful men just wanted to be put in their place.

Sal is breathing heavy as he finally lets his cock pop free from Max’s mouth, but he keeps that hand in his hair so he can admire that flushed, hazy expression the older man wears.

“Let’s take care a’ you, baby,” Sal says. He bends forward to lick some of the saliva from Max’s messy lips, kisses him sweetly. “Y’look desperately in need of some good cock.”

Max grins and rakes his nails over the fishnets on Sal’s thigh, groaning as he rocks against that boot. “You have no fuckin’ idea,” he breathes in a low, husky tone.

Sal feels a thrill rush through him, pooling into that delicious ache between his legs. “Get up,” he says and moves his boot. “Why the fuck are you still dressed?” he asks with a wild grin.

Sal drags Max to his feet, a tangle of limbs, mouths crushed together, and work haphazardly together to divest Max of his clothes. Max is decidedly unhelpful, as he just wants to feel every inch of Sal’s bare skin and grope at his tight little ass.

Finally, Sal has the executive stripped down and shoves him back onto the couch. “Fuck, you’re pretty hot for an old man,” he tells him with a wild grin, becoming addicted to those handsome lips and the scrape of his late-night/early-morning scrub of stubble.

“Fuck you,” Max huffs with a grin against demanding lips.

“Okay,” Sal agrees emphatically and moves just far enough to flip Max over before pressing right back up against him, sliding his cock against Max’s ass. “Cute ass, too,” he growls in Max’s ear, giving it a swat before he grabs a tight handful and rubs up against his hole.

Max groans, spreading his knees to feel more of Sal’s cock, more of those fishnets rubbing up against his bare thighs. “Thanks. I made it myself,” he says with a flash of a grin.

“I bet you did,” Sal husks back. “I like a man who takes care of himself,” he purrs, relishing in how the praise makes Max groan and rut back against him hungrily. “Now let Daddy take care of ya, Maxxy-baby,” he croons into Max’s hair, inhaling the musky, heady mix of sweat and pomade.

Max feels Sal’s fingers rubbing up against his hole, dripping with lube, and he falls forward on the couch with an eager groan.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya,” Sal teases him as he preps him. And a good thing, too. Judging by how tight Max is, even if he’s eager, he’s not exactly been in practice.

“Y’ always take good care of me,” Max groans.

If  _ enthusiastic consent  _ had an expression, it would be the one Max was wearing. He was grinning like all his dreams had come true, even while losing his breath and moaning for more. Just when had Max gotten so fucking cute? Sal was kicking himself for not coming onto Max sooner.

“Open wide for Daddy,” Sal whispers, chest rising and falling heavily. He groans as he watches the usually composed and downright cocky older man grab himself by the cheeks and spread himself for the taking. Even in this pose, though, Max still wears that handsome, toothpaste ad smile, beamed right over his shoulder at Sal.

Sal grips the back of Max’s neck as he positions his slicked cock against him. He moans at the pressure pushing back on his cock, grinding against his red-hot flesh as he spears Max open on his perfect cock. Max makes the most beautiful fucking sounds as Sal glides inside him.

“How’s that, baby?” Sal pants, gaze flicking down to see the couple inches still left to go between his hips and Max’s.

Max let out a loud groan, flexing around Sal. “So fuckin’ good,” Max gasps. He chokes on his breath as Sal suddenly fills him to the brim and slams against his prostate. His cock threatens to spill over, spurting and throbbing between his legs. “Fuck!” Max shouts, panting.

“Shh, shh,” Sal soothes him with a wicked grin, grinding his cock inside the older man with a slow rock of his hips, stroking at his neck. “Don’t wanna wake the neighbors…” he teases him.

“Fuck your neighbors,” Max hisses, biting his lip with a grin of ecstasy.

“Aww, don’t do me like that, baby,” Sal murmurs, rocking his hips further, giving and taking an inch or two. “I want you thinkin’ about  _ me  _ while I’m fuckin’ you.”

Max groans and reaches down to squeeze his cock, part venting the electric pleasure, part holding back. “No chance in Hell--” His voice is arrested by a high-pitched moan as Sal jerks his hips in deep. “--fuck,” Max pants, “no chance--I’m thinkin’ about anything else right now…”

“Good,” Sal growls, nipping at the shell of Max’s ear as he begins fucking him in earnest.

There’s no chance in Hell either of them are going to last long. It’s like a chemical reaction between them, explosive and just gaining more momentum, building off one another. Sal grips Max’s throat as he sucks a dark mark into the curve of his shoulder, while Max holds onto the couch for dear life with one hand and tugs at Sal’s hair with the other. Sal’s hips piston in and out of Max’s eager body, and Max bows his head at his orgasm hits like a hurricane, his moans strangled and highs heightened by the press of fingers on his windpipe.

Sal pulls free of Max’s slackened grip and holds tight to his shoulder as he leans back to ride his cock fast and deep inside that orgasm-tight body. “Fuck yes, baby. Say my name,” he growls between clenched teeth, grinding just-so to hit his climax.

As Max groans his name, deep and full of want, Sal shudders and digs his nails into Max’s hip and shoulder. “F-fuck…” he sighs, lips splitting into a smile of pure bless. His hips waver, ghosts of thrusts as orgasm washes over him, giving him that nirvana-like peace of mind.

“Mmm…” Sal hums with satisfaction and slowly slides out of Max, appreciating the sight of that well-used hole. He watches Max sink forward into the couch, tilting his head. “Did you come on my couch?” he asks in a low, even tone.

“Yeah. Was I supposed to come somewhere else?” Max asks without a beat of hesitation. He shoots a heavy-lidded grin over at Sal as he turns over. He flops down on his ass, then tenses and chokes on self-deprecating laughter as he winces.

Sal can’t help but snicker, his sultry mask cracked with an amused grin. “Shoulda put down a towel,” he mutters.

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” Max mutters with a boneless shrug. His eyes drag over Sal’s body, a grin creeping over his dazed face. He glances at Sal’s preternaturally hard cock, then jerks his chin up at Sal. “That thing’s terrifying,” he tells him with mock-seriousness.

“Why? ‘Cause it never goes down?” Sal jeers, grabbing at the base and waving it at Max.

“Yeah,” Max sputters and laughs. “Curse of the neverending boner.”

“That’s a fuckin’  _ gift,  _ excuse you.”

Max laughs, running his fingers over Sal’s thigh, hooking his fingers on the net in a silent ploy to draw him closer.

Sal fiddles with some straps, then grabs his cock and takes it right off, tossing it off to the other side of the couch. “There. Feelin’ less intimidated?”

Max smiles as he runs a palm up Sal’s thigh, settling more boneless into the couch. “Mm. Handy,” he says with a lift of his brow.

Sal smirks and crawls over on his knees, straddling Max’s languid, spent frame. “It’s convenient,” he agrees. “Easy clean up.”

Max’s chest is still rising and falling deep and steady as he looks up at the handsome man perched on his hips. “You’re an innovator,” he says, letting his hands rest on Sal’s thighs, feeling up those delicious nets.

“‘Xactly,” Sal says casually. It might be the drugs, but those are wearing off by now, so he’s pretty sure it’s just Max who’s making him feel this at ease. Maybe it was the sex. Probably the sex.

“Can I… stay the night?” Max asks, but this just sets him off into another round of painful, irrational giggles.

The laughter is infectious. “Why is that fuckin’ funny?”

Max sighs. “‘Cause it’s like six fucking AM.”

Sal shrugs, an easy smile on his face. “Stay the day. I don’t care.”

“Alright.” Max slowly sits up from where he’d been slouched into the couch and squints at his watch. “Do I have work to do today?” he mutters. Shit, he must be fucked out if he’s forgetting whether or not he has work.

“Just me,” Sal tells him matter-of-factly.

Max lets his watch fall away and meets Sal’s hot-and-cold gaze. He’s quiet for a moment, then he smiles. “Alright.” He leans in and kisses Sal, murmuring, “Good thing we got started early…”


End file.
